Research
by Nikoru-chan
Summary: Perhaps, just perhaps, some Little Birds are in the habit of thinking too much?


Research

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters portrayed herein. They fall clearly within DC's purview.

He has a Masters with first class honors in molecular genetics. That part was the easy bit.

It hasn't got his name on it, of course, nor did he get to walk across the stage when he'd earned it. Cars aren't the only thing that can be hidden in the batarang budget, and he likes to think Batman still hasn't realized that he funded the degree, though he knows that's unlikely. If nothing else, Bruce _has_ to have noticed the funds that were siphoned off to provide his private lab in Titans Tower.

Technically, he's ineligible for the accolade; most universities frown on giving out higher degrees to those who've not yet completed the high school diploma they're currently enrolled in. That, of course, didn't slow him down. Finding a university a little off the beaten track, but with an excellent reputation in the biological sciences was relatively simple, in this the golden age of internet remote learning.

But kudos and awards were never what it was about, anyway. Raw learning, and a structured access to research and data had been what he wanted, the degree simply a convenient way of accessing that information during his year of traveling. Let the university do the hard slog of finding the texts and journals that would provide him with the basic tools for research. The higher stuff was proving to be a tough enough job by itself.

He still hasn't told the rest of the Batfamily about his academic efforts. There isn't really a good way of bringing it up, and besides what would be the point? Right up until that mess with Damian and R'as Al Ghul, Dick was convinced he was getting over his father's death. Over everyone's death. His dad, his best friend, his girlfriend.

Does _anyone_ ever really get over that sort of thing?

Now, Tim has the sneaking suspicion his older brother isn't convinced of much about the current Robin at all, including both his morality, and - arguably more importantly - his sanity. Which is manifestly unfair, really.

Tim is quite possibly the most dangerously sane of the entire Batclan.

That's one reason why he poured back the Lazarus fluid, after all. No point taking it – and burning valuable good will and emotional capital – when he lacked the ability to analyse it, to capitalize on its' secrets. It was uncertain if he could even transport it adequately.

Further study - perhaps another degree - this time in organic chemistry or sub-cellular physics might well be warranted. He mulls it over.

There's plenty of fluid to be had, if he ever changes his mind; a new Lazarus pit seems to spring up in a novel part of the world every five or so years, according to his analysis of Al Ghul's migratory patterns. He's pretty sure Batman knows _that_, too; he would have made his own assessment of the data in the Crays.

At any rate, the study has made him a better detective; his adroitness at wending his way through wads of forensic reports to the crucial elements of genetic clues has been refined by his more thorough understanding of the topic, and both Dick, Bruce and especially the Titans have benefited sufficiently from it not to look too closely at the proverbial gift equine's oral cavity.

And besides, a small part of him notes, it isn't too many scientists that can hold their own against three hundred pounds of aggro. He kicks up, all darting legs and supple feet, and knocks out the teeth of said individual. Handstand converting into backflip-summersault, he takes out the first thug's co-conspirator with lackadaisical precision. It's a nice move; efficient, but not overly showy. Using the legs, and so ideal for his small, light build.

He'll have to remember to thank Cassandra later.

Cassandra.

He misses her. A lot.

Unlike the others, she isn't dead.

In a way, that's even harder. Nothing to clone, nothing to resurrect.

Except their friendship.

He wonders where he'll find a course of study to let him do that.

END?

Author's Note: Nchan plus 36 hours of no sleep plus one 2 litre bottle of Coke Zero (now nearly empty). . . Well, what did you really expect was going to happen?


End file.
